


Worth the Wait

by Elizabeth1985



Series: Cockles [6]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Jensen, Cockles, Edging, Fluff, M/M, Misha teases Jensen, Phone Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sort of Masturbation?, Sex Toys, Spanking, Teasing, Top Misha, cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 15:09:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5252822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth1985/pseuds/Elizabeth1985
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A morning phone call turns into a long-distance, week-long tease for Jensen. By the time Misha is back in the apartment, Jensen is more than ready to be taken apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth the Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah... so this is just shameless smut. Enjoy. Thank you to me awesome beta [Tennyo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tennyo/pseuds/Tennyo)  
> Sorry if anything is inconsistent or inaccurate. I sort of power-wrote this.

_Some days life is just_ meh _. And then sometimes it surprises you._

Jensen wakes up and he just groans and lays there, wondering about all the better ways he could spend his day than alone in his apartment, or going to work at ungodly hours of the morning .. and of course _being_ there for an ungodly amount of hours.

Flopping onto his front, he shoves his arms under the fluffy pillow and buries his face into the depth of the thick padding.

The comfier he gets, the worse that nagging feeling in the back of his head becomes about _getting up_ and _going to work_ and all those other stupid things that are necessary.

Maybe he just needs a little pick me up. Yeah, that’s definitely what he needs.

Jensen grins and shuffles over to his nightstand and snatches the iPhone resting there. Yanking out the power cord, he wiggles back into, more or less, the absolute center of the large bed.

He spreads his legs and pulls his phone up close to his face, his elbows propping him up. There’s a giddy smile starting to tease corner of his mouth and he pulls his bottom lip in by his teeth to try and snuff it out.

Swiping the screen unlocked and tapping the familiar green icon, he doesn’t need to scroll. The name is second from the top. Jensen smiles and opens up the chat window, fingers moving to the message box and wondering what dirty thing he wants to lead with.

When he finally decides, he snorts and types it out, eagerly hitting send and waiting on a response.

Three little animated dots show up almost immediately and he grins again, wondering what Misha will fire back with. Considering he’d led with, ‘ _I want you to lick me,’_ he doesn’t expect a tame reply.

Misha writes, ‘ _Where do you want me to lick you?’_

Jensen nearly growls with excitement. It’s been, like, a week. Which is _nothing_ for them, to be fair. But. It doesn’t mean he’s not damn ready to go.

Over the course of ten minutes, many messages are sent back and forth, and somehow, he’s gotten himself into the precarious position of holding and typing one-handed, and jerking himself with the other.

He’s edging closer to the end, feeling a low coil in his abdomen and a tightness down low, when his phone rings. And it’s Mish.

Breathlessly, he answers. “Hmm…” is all he opens with.

“Stop.” The commanding voice sharply cuts across the line and he stutters, his hand falling still.

“Wh-what? Why?”

“Because I’ll see you in a week and you’re not allowed to come until then.”

Jensen bolts up, loose hand around his cock, phone clutched in his fingers—

“Excuse me!?” he shrieks. Cause, umm, no thanks. Teasing and handcuffs and spanking and all the frisky crap they get up to is one thing when Misha is here, but calling the shots when he’s a gazillion miles away is just … not cool.

“You heard me.”

“It’s already been like five days. I can’t go another week! Are you insane?”

A sarcastic laughs drips through the phone. It’s annoyingly sexy. “Babe. I promise you’ll survive. And I promise it’ll be worth the wait.”

But he knows one thing for sure, it will hurt too. He’s gone a while before and when he finally managed to get off after however long it had been, his orgasm had ached its way through him—all angry and pissed off. It _had_ been weirdly euphoric though.

But before the orgasm? Blue balls from the depths of hell. Like the worst bruise you’ve ever felt from deep within your ballsac.

Jensen squirms and glances down at his wilting sex. “I hate you,” he growls into the phone.

Misha laughs again. And goddammit, his cock perks up for just a second. “One week, babe. And then I’ll take you apart. Like never before.”

His man’s got some high hopes there. They’ve had some crazy intense nights. And days. And mid-afternoons. “Pretty lofty goal there Mish.”

“Are you doubting me?” Misha asks, slow and steely.

Instead of answering, he groans and squirms back into the bed, punching his head back into the pillow and just lays there, dreading the rest of the day— _nay_ , the rest of the week.

“Tell me you won’t before I hang up.”

“No.”

“Jensen…”

Another groan. “ _Fiiiine_. If I die before you come back it’s all your fault.”

Exchanging grudging I love you’s (on his part), he hangs up and stomps out of the bed, throwing the twisted blankets harshly back on the mattress.

Miraculously, his day continues. His arousal falls into the background and there’s a lingering discomfort for a while, but it goes away. He works, he says his lines, he roughhouses with Jared for a bit.

By eight at night, he’s near ready to go back to his apartment and is lingering with some of the crew, chatting and waiting to walk back to the trailers with Jared to change and catch a ride back home.

His phone vibrates in two short bursts from his back pocket and he absently takes it out mid-conversation with one of the camera guys.

Splashed on the screen is a closeup of Misha with his hand wrapped around his erection, long fingers resting against the soft, smooth skin.

Jensen has to adjust his weight, and he feels the blood rush low.

Pressing his lips together, he locks the screen, turning it blessedly black and tries to refocus on the conversation.

It vibrates again. Inside his sweaty palm this time. Discreetly, he glances down and notices that Misha sent a video.

A video.

Jensen blinks. _I’m not gonna last a fucking week._

“What’d you say, man?” Roger asks.

“Huh? What?” he stumbles, eyes finally drifting up and meeting the eyes of the man he’s speaking with. Jared is walking over and Jensen feels out of place, surrounded by friends and sensing the low arousal tingling like earlier that morning.

“You muttered something about not lasting a week…”

Jensen flutters nonsense until Jared reaches them, greeting him with a light punch to the shoulder.

Looking between the two, he finally sighs defeat and throws out something like “ _Be right back,”_ and rushes off to the closest bathroom. His trailer is way too far.

It’s downright pathetic that he’s out of breath when he finally closes the door and unlocks his phone. He smacks the right-facing triangle like a greedy coke addict.

Oh, sweet jesus.

Misha is stroking himself, moaning, and then just before the video ends, his fingers drift down and circle over the tight entrance of his ass.

Standing with his shoulder resting on the wall, he stares down at the frozen end of the video and urges it to keep going. It doesn’t. He puts out the call and angrily waits for the ringing to end with Misha’s husky aroused voice on the other end.

“Hiya cowboy,” Misha huffs across the line. How dare he answer a phone like that.

“Is this how you plan to spend your week of _my_ abstinence?”

After a low, thick groan, Misha says, “Yessss.”

For a long while, he just listens. His eyes closed, his fingers twitching for something to grab or hold onto. “Can I hang up?” And he asks, because he just _knows_ he has to ask.

“No,” he’s told firmly. “Listen and touch yourself but stop before you go over.”

“You’re a fucking sadist,” he accuses. Nevertheless, he palms his hard-on through Dean’s well-worn jeans and gently massages, trying to hold back, trying to focus only on the rough sound of Misha’s breathing on the other side of the phone.

In the middle of panting and low curses, he catches a sort of shocked gasp. A subtle sound that he knows the meaning of.

“What are you doing?” he demands, his voice coming off like a threat.

It takes a couple tries for Misha to say something at all, and then finally, “Fucking myself with Vicki’s vibrator.”

He can’t help himself; Jensen clunks his head against the wall. It’s a really hard wall, actually. “You’re so mean,” he whines, but he’s not all that serious. He loves this side of Misha.

“Are you still touching yourself?” asks Misha.

No. He figured he’d survive better if he ignored it. But that’s not what he says. “Yep.”

“Liar. Don’t disappoint me or I won’t let you hear me finish.”

Jensen thunks his head once more and then sighs, acknowledging the defeat. Reluctantly, he trails his free hand back down and whimpers at how good it feels when he presses hard against the stiff ridge of his arousal.

He holds the phone too-tight against his ear, but he doesn’t care. It’s captivating to hear Misha play with himself.  

The harsh sounds coming from the phone get louder. Almost too loud to keep holding it over his eardrum this way, but to hell with hearing.

“Mish,” he pleads.

“Ssh, wait… till I’m, _ahh_ , done…”

Clenching his jaw, he angrily continues to drag his hand over his trapped cock and he can feel it twitching, jerking inside the stiff fabric and Misha better finish soon, or he’s gonna be breaking a promise.

Finally, the low huffs and gentle rolling moans turn into one long, deep groan followed by swift exhales blowing hard into the receiver.

It’s enough to get him too close. Close enough that he has to squeeze off the release, swearing loud into the phone because it _aches_. When he’s sure that he’s beat back the release, he withdraws his shaking hand and notices that there’s a tingling all over his skin.

“Mish,” he says softly, but it sounds rough.

“Did you?” Jensen is asked.

Fuck if he isn’t proud as shit when he responds. “No. Almost… but no.”

“God, I can’t wait to get my hands on you.”

Letting out an eager sound of anticipation, he breathlessly says, “I love you,” and hangs up.

**…**

By the next morning, the prickly drops of water from the showerhead feel like the most aggravating thing on his skin. His legs are restless and his balls already hurt.

It’s stupid. He half believes it’s all in his head. Maybe he can just think his way out of feeling denied. Because that’s the worst part. He’s gone way longer without an orgasm, obviously, but it’s the thought that he can’t. No matter what. Not for another five and a half days.

And that’s if Misha shows up, cabs it to the apartment and gets him off, like, immediately.

Knowing Misha, that sure as hell ain’t happening. He’ll be lucky to come before the sun goes down.

Since yesterday’s incident, he hasn’t heard from his side-husband. Or secret boyfriend, or any of the number of things they’ve called each other in the past. He always cringes when Misha says _lover_ because he says it so sweet and sensual. And fucking hell, deep down, Jensen likes it.

Despite how torturous it was to be teased the way he was, he’s still waiting on the next call, or text, or picture, or a video.

He deletes those off his phone… but only after uploading them to the computer, because, any cemented memory of Misha is something he cherishes. And if his computer is ever hacked and a website-worthy amount of pornographic pics and videos is unleashed, well, that would suck.

Not to mention be wholly embarrassing.

He’s not due on set today, so he makes a list of random chores. Groceries, pick up some beer, do laundry.

Satisfied with a plan to keep his mind off of his unappeased dick, he heads to his room and throws on some comfy out-and-about clothes.

An hour later, when he’s got his hand wrapped around a tomato, he hears a low buzz from his phone inside his jacket. He actually managed to forget, and he’s not thinking about what might be on his phone when he lazily glances down at it, his fingers still pressing on the red flesh of the tomato and checking its ripeness.

Jensen swallows when his eyes land on the text. “ _I want to spank you.”_

Looking around to make sure no one magically knows what was just texted to him, he places the single tomato in the cart and pushes it deeper into the produce section.

The increasingly kinky texts keep coming. But Mish must be feeling sorry for him because he mixes it up with the occasional emoticon. But not the regular ones. Oh no, they’re too mundane for Mr. Collins. The guy went and downloaded some specific app.

And that’s how he always winds up getting these ridiculous looking cartoon giant images of two dudes fucking, or big fat lips, or a cock. Or some BDSM sort of paraphernalia. The latter is what he’s sending a lot of now.

A cartoon whip. Handcuffs.

Jensen giggles a bit and then sees an old lady raise an eyebrow at him as she jabs her finger into the squishy loaves of bread checking for ultimate softness.

He tells Mish he’s getting strange looks. And the next text back is a funny pic of Misha with his eyebrow quirked and his tongue darting out between two fingers. Dirty motherfucker.

By the time he’s hitting up the pasta aisle, the texts turn less comical. A lot of _‘imagine this,’_ and ’ _remember when’_ …

A few people recognize him when he’s picking out a good BBQ sauce and he can’t help but wonder if deep down everyone in the grocery store knows that he’s got a partial inside his loose jeans and is trading some pretty scandalous messages with a person who just so happens to be his co-worker, and a man, and not his wife, and…

 _‘Make me do something…’_ he writes and debates and then swallows. And then finally hits send and exhales.

This is the longest it’s ever taken him to do groceries. Which is saying something considering he used to live with Jared who ate all the damn time.

The phone starts ringing nearly immediately.

“Hey.”

“Still at the store?”

He hums as a reply and looks around.

“The one near our place?”

Again, another ascending hum.

“Go to the elevator.”

Jensen pauses and then mentally says fuck it and guides his shopping cart to an end cash that’s not being used. He parks it, and slips between the blockade of the closed cash register and walks stiffly towards the metal doors. There are only two floors—where does Mish except him to go? Or for that matter… do.

He gets inside, the doors close and he says. “Ok.”

“Hit the stop.”

“No way. Alarms will go off or something.”

“They won’t.”

“You don’t know that. Whatever,” he says arrogantly, “I’m on the second floor now.”

Misha blows out an exasperated breath and tells him to head towards the washrooms.

“They’re dirty,” he complains.

An aggravated groan rumbles through the phone and Jensen almost moans. “Just because I’m not there, don’t think I don’t have ways to punish you.”

Intrigued, Jensen quirks an eyebrow and gives a little interested hum. “Is that so? What ways are these?”

“Not for you to know. Now, get into a stall and put the phone on speaker and wait for me to tell you what to do.”

He hesitates. “On speaker?”

When there’s no reply, he just does as he’s told. It’s oddly one of the more comforting parts of their relationship. He can just do, and he never really worries all that much. Misha is in control and Misha has it all figured out. Sure, he has his moments of second-guessing himself but Jensen is usually the one that needs reassurances. It’s not the most attractive part of his personality, but he’s made peace with it.

So all in all, he likes it when Misha does this kinda stuff. Loves the way it thrills him and makes him feel silly and dumb and young. And that it’s okay to be all of that.

Pushing aside his moment of reverence, he pushes into the stall, closes and locks the door and carefully places his phone on top of the toilet paper holder thing. Taking a breath, he turns on the speaker, his ears carefully attuned to every sound.

If someone walks in, this is going to be really, really inappropriate.

“Okie dokie.”

Misha laughs at his word choice. It’s an endearing sound. “I love you,” he says almost like a segue, and then continues, “I want you to push your pants and boxers down and then finger yourself.”

Jensen gapes at the iPhone like it can see him. After a questioning silence he finally decides to do it. Why not?

“I hate you,” he whispers close to the speaker. But Mish knows every time he says I hate you it means I love you too frigging much.

The low, evil chuckle from the other end is just downright mouth-watering. Taking advantage of the fact that he’s nearly drooling anyway, he starts to suck on his middle finger while attempting to undo his jeans with his left hand. It’s not at all smooth or sexy, and he grunts a bit in frustration.

Another soft little laugh comes out of the phone and he automatically smiles. Goddamn, Misha gets him to do the most ridiculous crap.

When his jeans and boxers are finally in a pile around his ankles, he leans forward and braces his palm on the door, reaching back with his other hand and not really taking his time. He just pushes in.

A steady exhale flows out of his lungs and starts to move, withdrawing his hand and pushing back in. It’s just _one_ finger and not at all enough, but just enough to get him aroused. Though, part of that is the fact that he’s at a goddamn grocery store fingering his ass like he’s the horniest teenage boy on the planet.

The room is chilly and he’s aware of the potential interruption and it makes the slick heat around his finger feel a little more sinful than normal.

Just as he’s building up rhythm, not remembering that he isn’t supposed to finish, the door opens. Loud enough that he knows Misha heard it.

There’s a small snap that startles him. It’s a not-so-subtle reminder from the phone to keep going. And he does, so slow there’s almost no point. Another phone rings.

Whatever guy has come into the washroom answers it. “Hey baby, what’s up?”

And then the dude actually continues to take a piss. Geez, the class of this guy. And then Jensen snorts, ‘cause like, who the fuck is he to judge a guy taking a call while he’s using the urinal—when he’s hiding out in the stall fingering himself at the demands of his kinky co-worker / secret lover?

The man continues to chat with his girlfriend or wife, or maybe his own secret male sex-god, while he finishes up and washes his hands with the phone held by his shoulder and then leaves.

Misha bursts out laughing. “Why did you snort?”

Huffing without a response, he just gets back into things. Again, regrettably, forgetting that he’s not gonna get any kind of reward for this. At least not today.

By the low sounds that must be coming out of him, he must give something away. “You better not think that if you can come on that single finger of yours that I’d actually let you.”

For a quiet few seconds, he keeps going, wondering if he actually could. And ya know, yeah, he totally could. That’s a bit sad. Knowing he’s wound so tight sexually that he could literally get off from his own finger in his ass. And just one, without anything touching his dick.

That’s all kinds of pathetic.

“Jen,” Mish threatens, “stop.”

And he does, swallowing and catching the dryness of his throat.

Eventually, he collects himself, wills his erection to fade, and cleans up. When he finally pays for his groceries, he’s already hung up with Misha and his nuts feel like rocks. Angry rocks at that.

Back at his apartment, he cleans and does laundry and makes dinner. Jared had some scenes today and when he gets home at six, Jensen gets a call to go over and hang out.

It’s a great plan. Better than sitting at home and trying not to whack off.

But he’s smart this time. He turns his phone off. There’s always a pang of worry. What if there’s an emergency. But, he reasons, he’s with Jared, so he’s not totally out of touch.

They have beers and watch the football game that was on earlier that Jared saved on the DVR. A couple minutes after the third quarter, Jared’s phone rings. Jensen doesn’t even bat an eye, it’s not his phone so it’s innocuous.

“For you—“ Jared pushes the phone in front of his face and it takes a couple blinks before he sees the name on the ID.

“Yes,” he says tightly.

“Are you ignoring me?”

Jensen rolls his eyes at Jared and mouths _needy_ pointing at the phone. “No,” he says innocently. “My phone died.”

“Bull shit. Call me when you get home.” The line goes dead.

Jensen shifts on the couch and actually, legitimately, gulps.

“You guys in a fight?” Jared asks as he takes his phone and trades it for another beer.

Taking a long pull of the cold, refreshing taste, he smirks at his best friend. “Let’s just call it a battle of wills.”

Jared groans and mock gags. “I know what that means.”

“Oh, shut up. You don’t know anything.”

But Jensen is transparent and they all know it. Eventually, the teasing ceases and they watch the rest of the game. When he gets back to his apartment, he turns back on his phone and sees the missed calls and texts he got. They alternated from dirty and teasing, then to worry, and then to sexually threatening. Presumably, after they’d spoken on Jared’s phone.

He actually needs to build his courage before he calls. But he does, ‘cause dammit, he’s a man and he can take a little frustration and whatever else Mish dishes out for him.

“Get naked and get in our bed,” is the first thing Misha growls into the phone.

Oh jesus. “I’m sorry. You’ve been driving me insane.”

“Naked. Bed.”

He mouths the word  fine into the phone as he makes a face and tromps back to the bedroom and tosses the phone on the mattress as he gets undressed.

“You hearing this?” he says towards the ominous phone. “Ope, there go the jeans!” But Misha doesn’t laugh. And somehow, that makes him really fucking hard.

He crawls onto the bed, takes his phone and snaps a pic and sends it.

“Good,” praises Mish. “In my nightstand, grab the purple vibrator.”

A shiver rolls through him. They bought it online over a year ago and it was just a tad bigger than expected, but they’ve used it.

Turns out, it has a chip inside that allows a WIFI connection.

“What for?” he asks stupidly. Technology for sex toys, he thinks. What’s the point?

“Put it against yourself… wherever you want.”

Smiling, and being dorky, he tucks it into his armpit. “Alright,” he drawls, holding back a giggle.

Abruptly, it starts to vibrate. _Hard_ and it _tickles!_ Jensen snorts a laugh and lets it fall to the bed.

“Are you seriously controlling this from L.A. right now?”

“Yes, now get to work. I won’t turn it on again until you’re ready.”

Misha makes everything fun and exciting and again, he forgets about the fact that he won’t get to finish. Or maybe it’s just willful denial.

Either way, he puts the phone beside him on speaker and gets all lubey and slick and fingers himself a bit before attempting to work himself onto the big giant purple vibrator.

What a fucking night this is gonna be.

Sitting up onto his knees, he holds it behind himself and starts to ease down, letting his own weight guide the penetration.

It takes a bit of gentle rotations of his hips and his hand gripping the base of it before the head of the fake dick slips in.

He makes the most ungracious shameless groan because holy bananas that thing is girthy. But the sound is a giveaway, and without saying a word, the vibrator buzzes to life and he nearly falls over.

“Christ,” he wheezes. “Warn a guy, Mish.”

“I’d rather surprise you.”

He lives in the moment after that, using his thighs to guide himself up and down and bringing his hand around to wrap around his stiff hard-on. He’s blistering hot and rock-hard and he can feel the heavy weight of his balls as he rocks back and forth.

It doesn’t take long. Misha’s voice, all deep and gravelly and commanding vocally guides him towards the crest. As he nears the end his legs are shaking from the position and his side hurts from being a little twisted.

But he _needs_ to come. There’s been way too much teasing and cut-off orgasms the last couple days. His body just won’t stop this time, he knows it.

The thrumming buzz of the vibrator starts to cut in and out, like either the connection is getting bad or Misha’s got a mind to crank him up that much higher.

He’s never cared for the vibrator before, to be frank. But now, when the buzzing stops, he gets this funny knot in his belly as he waits for it to come back on, and since Misha’s never too precise with whatever button he’s pushing, it always shocks him.

Pretty soon, his head feels like it’s buzzing at the same rate. Punctuated gasps pump out of his chest and he’s starting to sweat. The hard, aching weight in his shaft and dominating his balls is getting intense and he whimpers longingly at the idea of orgasming. He makes a decision that he’ll do it.

But then he breathes a thick gulp of air and reconsiders. Maybe he can handle it. Only a few more days.

He’s not aware of the low almost sobs coming out of him until he hears Misha’s voice and nearly forgot he was even on the phone.

“Stop.”

“No,” he whispers. And to illustrate the point, he sinks back on the hefty impalement of the damn purple sex toy and pants loudly at how good it feels.

The vibration and buzzing don’t just stop this time, they dwindle, like a dial is being twisted low until it clicks off.

“Jensen, babe, stop. Take it out and lay down.”

The sweet voice and soft words are better right then over the commanding coarse depth that Misha often uses during sex.

His cock is leaking, his hands are sticky, his ass is pleasantly tingly and a bit sore.

But Misha says the gentle commands again and he manages to lift up enough to remove the thick fake cock and he doesn’t care enough to do anything with it other than toss it on the floor. Which he’ll no doubt regret in the morning.

He doesn’t wipe his hands. Instead, he just lays back onto the soft comforter and sighs a bit shakily. His cock lays heavy and thick over his lower belly and it doesn’t seem to want to soften.

Despite the fact that he’s tired, his limbs are twitchy and his skin’s crawling.

“Babe, you okay?”

Jensen rolls over so that his ear is resting near the phone. “Come home,” he begs.

“Soon, and I promise it’ll be worth it.”

Slipping towards sleep, he snorts at the phone. “Better be,” he mumbles.

“Fuck, you remind me of Dean sometimes.”

“Shush,” he fires back.

They’re quiet for a while. He lays on the bed and feels the gentle vented air crawling over his oversensitive skin. Everything else is quiet. Even his slow, calm breaths barely make a noise. As the dim thud of his own heartbeat echoes inside of him, he feels his eyelids droop.

“’Love you…” he murmurs, knowing somehow that Misha is still listening.

“I love you too. Get some sleep.”

**…**

The next two days are equally torturous. Or more so, because he has to work. Several retakes are necessary for fairly easy scenes and it’s mostly because he’s antsy and cranky and sore.

He starts snapping at everyone and he feels bad about it, so on Thursday night, a day and a half before Misha is supposed to come back, he decides to just go ahead and jack off in the shower before he murders someone.

Who knew _not_ masturbating would cause such a disruption in his life.

But his plan is thwarted when he turns the hall out of the elevator and sees a package in front of the door. And he knows.

Whatever is in there is from Misha.

With every step and movement he can’t shake the subtle tremor that rolls under his skin, like electricity just before a storm and it’s the most irritating thing he’s ever experienced.

So he’s a bit angry when he walks the package into the kitchen, and a bit rough as he’s undoing the tape and opening up the box.

At first, he grimaces, cause what’s in the box is super gay. Like gayer than Misha fucking him hard in the ass. But then he starts laughing because it’s exactly what he needs.

There’s big plastic bottle of bubble bath. Friggin candles. Pie. A Ziploc bag full of cookies. A freaking romance novel. A CD. And lastly, a letter. An actual hand-written letter.

He sits at the island in the kitchen and reads the letter with a dopey grin on his face because it’s all sweet and lovey-dovey and about feelings and is grossly poetic. His body is so on edge that the letter almost makes him cry because he’s starting to get needy. But he sniffs back the twinge of emotional overload and pours himself a glass of wine.

He takes his box of goodies and heads right down the hall to the bathroom. Taking out the three candles, he places one on the counter, one on the lid of the toilet and one on the edge of the tub itself and lights them all. It’s cheesy as hell, but he likes it.

Using his laptop from the bedroom while the tub is filling, he pops the CD in and clicks around until it’s set to play on shuffle. But he doesn’t hit play just yet. Everything needs to be all set up. I mean, if he’s taking a girly bath, he’s going all out.

When the tub is full of white mountains of bubbles and the wide mirror is steamed up, the fluttery orange dancing of the candle light all around the room, he chucks his clothes, drags his little care package next to the top, and plunks down into the hot water.

The heat melts into him and he closes his eyes and gruffly says, “Thank you Mish,” out into the bathroom. Reaching out blindly to the stool where his laptop is sitting he hits play.

A smile stretches out his mouth when the song becomes familiar to him. It’s Taylor Swift’s _Ours._ Naturally, he’s a tad embarrassed that Misha knows he’s a fan of Taylor Swift but not enough to not sit in his damn bubble bath and enjoy the hell out of it.

Peering over the lip of the tub he debates what he wants next. Pie might be Dean’s favourite, but Jensen prefers the cookies and maybe a little ‘cause he knows Misha made them. He takes one out of the plastic bag and bites a good chunk off and grins, imagining Mish in the kitchen with Vicki making cookies.

He closes his eyes to picture the potential conversation: _Well, I’ve been relentlessly teasing Jen to the brink of death, so I’m making him cookies!_ And Vicki would say, _Great plan, I’ll help… continue teasing him baby._

The bubble bath smells like fruit and it’s kind of nice. Two cookies later and a few more sips of wine, he’s contently humming to the rest of the Taylor Swift mix.

It takes about six Taylor Swift songs before he’s bold enough to go for the romance novel. There are four people on the front of it, all wrapped around each other, the image overly airbrushed and blurred the way romance novels tend to be. And the oddest part is that the book is well used. Edges frayed. Old dog-eared pages still bent at various points.

Inside the cover there’s a note. “I read this once when I was bored and it reminded me so much of us and our weird, odd family. Relax. Enjoy. I love you xo”

And so, Jensen Ackles grabs another cookie, takes another sip of wine and starts reading a love story about two guys and their wives.

When his phone rings an indefinite amount of time later, he’s sitting up in the tub, nose about three inches from the centre crease of the book, his eyes reading every tantalizing word of the current orgy going on. And it is frighteningly similar to something that they all did a few years ago.

Swallowing and putting the book down, he reaches over the phone and answers.

“Hello.” Whoa. His voice sounds all thick and off. Like he was just caught in the middle of sex.

“Having a good night?” asks Misha.

Jensen purrs over the phone and lays back into the tub. “I love that you know how secretly cheesy I am.”

An amused gentle laugh comes out of the line, and even though it’s pressed close to his ear, it’s too far away. “I miss you,” he admits, flicking at a mound of bubbles in front of him.

“I know. We’ve gone longer.”

“Not like this though,” he notes.

Misha agrees and asks if he spoke to his wife last night after things between them had settled down and part of his earlier frustration rises up like the water swaying around his chest.

“You sneaky bastard,” he chastises. Because even though his chat with Danneel was quick, she was torturing him too.

“I think I put some ideas into her head, and I’ll apologize now because when you eventually get home, you may or may not wind up being tied to the bed.”

“God, you two are awful.”

They talk for a while about nothing, enjoying the easy conversation, and he thinks he’s getting off the hook tonight. And the water turns a bit cool and the wine is making him dozy, he starts to swing the nice phone call to an end so he can dry off and get into bed.

“Do one little thing for me,” pleads Misha. And Christ, does he have to be so nice about it?

Jensen complains from somewhere deep in his chest and grumbles, “What?”

“Just, lazily touch yourself … right now. While you’re still on the phone with me.”

The bath has done its job and relaxed him enough, his skin no longer feeling stretched too tight over his muscles and so he lets his right hand fall below the water line, skimming up his thigh until it bumps into his flaccid dick sort of floating a bit at the juncture of his hips.

A soft sigh of content leaves him and Jensen forgets about Misha on the phone and just lays back and focuses on the slow drag of his fingers, barely grazing, barely getting hard. He has a passing thought that maybe he finally broke it, and after all that teasing, his poor cock is giving up any attempts to rise to the occasion.

It makes him chuckle into the phone, but the laugh dies on his lips as a thick wave of drowsiness and pleasure rushes through his veins.

“I wish I had hidden cameras in the apartment,” wishes Misha, his voice suddenly loud in Jensen’s ear after the subtle lapping of the water against the tub from his movements below.

Smiling, he replies, “Hmm, I’m surprised you don’t.”

There’s a distinct pause and then he hears a couple clicks. “I’m going on amazon right now.”

Huffing a quiet laugh, Jensen tunes him out as he murmurs about available hidden cameras. It’s like the weirdest background noise for what he’s doing but he only really cares about the sound of Misha’s voice. It’s familiar and low and a bit rough.

In the slowest build of an erection ever, he coaxes his cock to perk up, the soft flesh growing thick and hard inside the brush of his fingers. He keeps going until the heat pools in his lower abdomen, his muscles starting to contract, like they’re getting ready for the workout of an orgasm.

Forcing his hand to move away, he places it flat on his thigh and closes his eyes.

“…who would put a hidden camera in an alarm clock!” Misha’s saying incredulously, “I mean, who the fuck still has an alarm clock?!”

Jensen smiles but says nothing. He managed to stay relaxed. Arousal and unacknowledged needs still linger in his bones, in the way his abs keep clenching for no reason, and how his hips have this ghostly need to tense and jerk forward, but he holds still and waits and lets it weave its way through him.

“Babe?”

Perking up to the direct interruption, he merely hums.

“Ok, sorry, I got too distracted with wanting to see you that I forgot to pay attention. Fuck. I can’t wait to get you under me.”

“Soon, right?”

“My plane gets in a little after one in the afternoon on Saturday.”

“I can’t wait.” He smiles and quirks his lip. “Well, I’m trying to wait… I guess.”

They both laugh tiredly and finally say their goodbyes.

He’s slow to get out, and barely opens his eyes as he’s brushing his teeth later. Crawling in under the sheets, he curls up and falls asleep.

**…**

It’s Friday, finally.

And thank fucking god. Only one more night. And at this rate, he’s pretty confident he can make it but his dreams have started to reflect his needs and last night’s was a doozy of a sex dream. Literally, everyone he has ever had sex with was in the dream and they were all naked and touching him and it was absolutely insane, and to be honest, he was a little surprised when he woke up to find that he hadn’t ejaculated all over the soft white sheets.

Today is another work day and he gets up and goes to work and doesn’t hear from Misha for the whole day. Not one text and he’s not sure whether he’s relieved or upset. It’s not that he _wants_ to be teased more, his balls are constantly sore at this point and despite the relaxing night he had, he still woke up feeling irritable and pissed off for no good reason. But even with all that, he misses Misha. He misses the guy more than his balls hurt.

And so he’d take another torture session, just to hear the man’s voice in his ear.

To pass the periodic breaks, he texts Danneel and they trade stories—hers about JJ and his about work and Misha’s current method of torture. Of course, she knows all about it and details plans of her own for when he gets home next week.

Hours later, the sun has disappeared and it’s dark again. Clif just dropped him off at the apartment building and he’s mechanically moving through the lobby to the elevator, throwing a quick wave to the security guard.

The ride up is quick, but he spaces out during it and feels like he’s waking up when the doors open. His feet carry him to the door of their apartment. There’s only one other apartment on this floor but he never sees whoever lives there.

There’s a sweet kind of relief the moment you shove your house key into the lock, like a full body sigh before you can finally let the day fall off of you.

The door swings inward, opening up to the hallway and Jensen goes still.

With his mouth parted, and his hand half-holding the door handle, he draws in the scene in front of him. Misha is standing at the end of the hallway and their apartment is overloaded with candles. Like call the damn fire department kind of deal. Absolutely unnecessary but sort of awesome too.

“What are you doing here?” he stammers.

A thread of thought teases that maybe he’s dreaming. Which is super lame.

“Vicki made me leave early. Said she was getting sick of the two of us,” Mish explains, a secretive smile in his eyes. It’s the look he gets when he’s thinking about their private little affair.

He’s still sort of in shock. They’ve been romantic before but this is like _all out_. He’s impressed and feeling a bit emotional over it. Though he hasn’t come in nearly two weeks and his body’s a bit out of whack. It probably wouldn’t take much to cry at this point.

Again… _lame._ But whatever.

The first thing he can think of to really say is, “I think you overdid it with the candles. Please don’t set me on fire.”

Misha laughs, but it’s calm and his expression gives nothing away except a hidden plan for the evening. He beckons him over with the hook of his finger and Jensen doesn’t need more invitation than that. He kicks the door shut behind him, wincing as it slams.

He tries to be cool about it, he tries to walk down the short hallway like a normal human being but his entire frame is already starting to shake with anticipation.

Tossing the keys on the counter, he turns to face Mish. Standing there exuding the promise of sex illuminated by the gazillion flickering orange-yellow lights of the candles.

Hot as hell.

And then he basically throws himself at the guy. It’s not manly or respectable, but who the hell cares.

His arms twist around Misha’s neck and shoulders and one leg hikes itself up against Misha’s hip, the ankle hooking around to draw him closer.

A deep moan vibrates between their chests and he’s not sure which of them it was.

The tackle hug lasts no more than a few seconds before he’s sliding his cheek against Misha’s, scruff scratching together, his mouth searching out soft lips and a place to slip his tongue.

Mish takes control, a hand rises up to his neck and curls around the back of his head pulling him right where Mish wants him to be. He’s already out of breath when he parts his lips and a soft familiar tongue licks into his mouth. It’s wet and warm and he knows the taste.

There’s a sharp tug as Misha grasps the short lengths of his hair and wrenches his head back to expose his throat. The man dips down and sucks a hard kiss right below his ear.

The choked up moan that rises from him sounds pathetically desperate.

“Mish,” he says in a strained plea. No doubt Misha can feel the solid line of his cock rubbing hard against the dip of his groin.

Without answering, Misha begins to undress him. Even as his mouth continues to assault Jensen’s neck, and his ear, and the sharp cut of his jaw.

Jensen is shivering by the time his shirt is off and downright squirming by the time he’s left in nothing but boxers.

Opposite him, his man remains fully clothed. A bit ruffled though. But Misha often looks a bit ruffled, like he’s permanently in the state of having just left a wild orgy.

With a smirk, Misha backs up towards the couch, avoiding various tables and counters that with one subtle bump could burn the whole building to the ground.

Jensen follows, his nerves making him jittery.

He doesn’t hesitate when Misha sits down on the leather fully clothed, looking up all patient but insistent.

Shoving his boxers to the floor and stepping out of them, he moves to the long black sofa and straddles Misha, his tender balls dragging against Misha’s stiff jeans.

He can’t hold back a short surprised whimper. Cause damn, he is sore down there. And his whole body, from the arch of his feet to the hairs on his head, is like a live-wire. And Misha is smooth and refreshing like water. It’s a bad combination.

It seems he’s a bit slow to talk, his brain not functioning at the best and he curls forward and cups Misha’s face and kisses him. Kisses him slow and lovingingly before things turn wild as he knows they will. As they always do.

Jensen feels Misha’s hands and long, deft fingers slide over the naked planes of his skin, skimming across his ribs and around to the arch of his back, and down his spine.

He can feel the gentle scrape of Misha’s sleeves—a stupid wool sweater that itches as it passes. It only makes the sparks under his skin set off.

And then he can feel those same hands drift down to his ass, a light touch becoming a grab, fingers digging into the curved muscle and pushing him down and forward.

It makes every sensitive bit between his legs rub hard against Misha’s crotch and it jolts him, his face yanking out of the kiss to suck back a starved breath.

He’s already unhinged when he says, “I won’t last. I could come like this.”

Because his body somehow _knows_. With Misha under him, and those familiar strong hands proprietarily tracing the natural curves of his frame, it knows it’ll get what it needs.

“Let’s see how far we can take you,” Mish suggests, lifting up a bit and digging his fingers into his jeans pocket to search for something.

It doesn’t surprise Jensen in the least that Misha probably went through airport security with a cock ring in his pocket.

He almost protests. _Almost._

But instead, closes his eyes and bites his lower lip as he feels Misha roll the tight rubber circle down his shaft until it’s secure at the base.

“Are you-are you gonna get undressed?” he wonders, looking down. It’s a bit embarrassing how breathy and uneven his voice sounds. But, he reasons, it’ll be worse by the end of the night.

“Not yet. Grind on me some more. Let me just … watch you.”

A nervous roll shudders through him. They don’t normally get like this sober. He’s never been a bold person. But Misha encourages it, and he feels safe doing what Misha wants, he never worries he’ll look stupid.

So he doesn’t even think about how his former self might criticize the way he’s rolling his hips like an ecstasy doped up whore. He just does it … because it _feels good_. And because Mish loves it.

After a while, the chafing starts to dwindle the good feeling and he slows and starts to trace kisses across Misha’s face and down his neck, pulling at the collar of the wool sweater, stretching it to get access to more skin.

He growls at one point. “Take it off!”

Motioning for him to stand, Jensen quickly obliges and nearly bumps into the table when his knees feel weak.

He watches as Misha slowly undresses. He doesn’t help. Oh, but he wants to. A threatening look implores him to keep his hands off.

Misha grins wickedly as he palms his erection through his jeans, the rest of him bare. The candlelight highlighting the toned but subtle curves of his muscle over his chest and down his flat stomach to his jutting hip bones that cast the most the sinful shadow over his pelvis.

Jensen swallows and blinks… and just… waits.

“What would you rather? Be edged for the next few hours or forced to come over and over until there’s nothing left?”

First of all— _few hours?_ He’ll die. But the second option he’s watched in a porn once and that looked like its own kind of sweet torture. Finally, he looks at those blue eyes and answers, “Whatever you want.”

“I suppose you can wait. But fuck I can’t wait to see you come.”

That makes two of us, he thinks. Jensen opens his mouth to beg Mish to take those jeans off when the man in front of him takes a step forward and kneels at his feet.

“Oh god.” Jensen throws his head back in anticipation and equal parts frustration.

He can’t watch. He’s too wound up.

But he feels the first ghostly touch of a wet tongue. The tiniest goddamn lick, right over the slit. He can imagine the way a drop of precome would slide onto Misha’s tongue.

For what feels like ten solid minutes, he stands there, naked and tense in the middle of his living room while Misha flicks his tongue at the head of his cock. Not _once_ wrapping his lips around.

It is maddening.

But he says nothing. He keeps his head back and stares at the ceiling when he manages to open his eyes. Behind his back, his fingers are locked together. And he wonders if Misha should’ve tied his wrists because he’s twitching with the raging need to grab either side of Misha’s head and hold him still and just fuck his face without apology. But he won’t. He wouldn’t unless Misha told him to.

He gasps when Misha takes a lap around the plump head, wondering, silently begging for a little suction.

And Mother of Christ! When it finally happens, those thick soft lips pressing tight around him, a wet mouth encasing the entire tip of his cock, Jensen jerks on his feet, his hips jutting forward of their own accord.

Somewhere over the blood rushing in his ears, he hears Misha grunt at the surprise of a cock filling his mouth in a quick thrust.

A hard slap lands on his ass and he’s startled enough to look down. Misha is still holding his arm up and around, ready to do it again. And the look in his eyes…

Yeah, Jensen licks his lips and swallows and stares back.

He catches the movement before he feels it, but another stinging slap lands on his left butt cheek. Clearly, Misha isn’t thinking this through, because each slap pushes him forward a little more.

It doesn’t stop. Actually, it gets worse. Rapid smacks land on his ass and Misha starts to suck in earnest, swallowing all the way down until his lips are touching the cock ring.

It hits him a meagre five minutes later. It’s too much, he unlocks his knees and they just let go on him. Misha must’ve been expecting it, because he’s there before Jensen can smack naked on the floor, arms right up under his armpits.

“Come on, Jen. Come on, let’s go to our room.”

Regaining a modicum of strength, he pads down the hallway. Albeit a little wobbly. His cock leading the way, more or less.

Turning his back at the edge of the bed, he lets himself fall onto it. The comforter feels scratchy and much less appealing than soft, warm skin that he’d rather have touching him.

Misha enters the room and starts to remove his jeans.

“Ugh, finally,” he groans.

Watching all that smooth skin and controlled movements, he follows Misha as the man gets fully naked and crawls onto their bed, pushing Jensen’s legs apart and laying down with his face resting against Jensen’s thigh. Close enough, that when he speaks, the puff of his breath rushes over Jensen’s sac.

He knows how hard and uncomfortable they look. He can feel it when he walks, he can sense the way his body has reacted to the constant almost orgasms over the course of the week.

“Are you sore?” asks Misha, his tongue darting out to wet the sensitive skin that covers his balls.

“Yess,” he whimpers. He lays there utterly useless, waiting to be taken apart.

Like a rising tide, Misha begins the teasing dance all over again. Sucking at his sac, tongueing at his perineum, sucking him off.

The torturous mouth kisses and licks up his body leaving a trail of cooling spit on his skin in its wake. It makes him shiver. When Misha zeroes in on his nipples, he angles his head to watch, entranced by the subtle flicks at the nub that he barely feels and yet it’s still too much. Still leaves him squirming.

His cock is throbbing hard with the beat of his heart and without noticing, Jensen is fisting handfuls of the blanket and using the leverage to push his hips up against Misha’s body. Finding a smooth thigh or curved pelvis to rock against.

Misha doesn’t let him get too used to the gentle kisses and touches. No, he’s not quite ready to give in yet. After being turned onto his front, he jerks from head to toe when Misha doles out a harsh slap on his ass. It radiates warmth from his skin deep into the centre of his torso where he can feel that tight coil in the pit of his stomach.

He moans low and waits for more. And they come. Misha’s perfect palm lands quick and sharp against his ass, over and over, and good god in heaven he loves it.

Tears form in the corners of his eyes and he feels, oddly, _free_.

The room spins and he his sore backside winds up on the comforter again, only half-aware that he’s been flipped over.

Jensen sucks on Misha’s fingers, he opens his mouth to probing kisses that stutter the already uneven pace of his lungs, and he lets Mish take him to the brink of sensation over and over again.

It feels like hours pass. He’s reduced to marking time by sensations. And he notices that he went from squirming and moaning, but decently composed, to how he is now.

Which is utterly lost. A low panic making his heart pound against his ribcage and he doesn’t know why. Maybe he’s scared to fall apart. Scared about the whole thing ending. He’s floating in a strange space of euphoria.

And there’s no composure left in him. He’s begging in broken whimpers, writhing on the bed in a need that almost makes him angry.

Suddenly, his wrists are grabbed and pinned above his head and all at once, Misha is right in his face, peering down at him. Jensen's chest is heaving, rising and falling too fast compared to Misha’s.

“Jensen, babe, okay… okay. Relax.” And Misha too, he can tell, is shaking. He wonders how long they’ve been at this.

“Now, now, now, fuck. I can’t take anymore,” Jensen rushes out, dragging his nose back and forth against Misha’s, nuzzling up at him, desperate and clingy in his wanton state.

He can feel strong hands manhandling him, a grip under his knees pushing him into position, hands taking hold of his hips and pulling him lower on the mattress. It’s only then that he realizes he’d ended up wedged and crooked up against the wooden headboard.

“Don’t want to fuck you through the wall.”

A shaky laugh breezes past his lips. “Appreciated,” he replies.

He lays there, shaking, and waits, not able to do more than that. The tight squeeze of the cockring is still secure around his shaft and god he wants it off.

The glow of candles flickering around them seem bigger than they were, their fuzzy halos dancing on the walls.

Up until this point, Misha has only teased his ass with a few wet licks. And it seems every part of him has been deliciously tormented and pushed to some near orgasmic cliff but not there.

“Save the best for last.” He winks.

Misha gives him a lopsided wicked grin and chooses that moment to drive a slicked single finger deep into him, curling forward as he pulls back out. God, he feels like his heart is gonna leap out of his throat and they’re not even fucking yet.

“Just _get_ in _me_!” he growls.

And it shows how close Mish is that he blows out a rough exhale, a sure sign of defeat, and shuffles up between Jensen’s legs, dragging his finger out slow.

He knows it’ll hurt at first, and he doesn’t even care. They get carried away sometimes, but whatever, he’s not gonna die.

Misha unloads a quarter of the bottle of lube and spreads it on both of them. And that about tips his patience over; the way Misha slides his slickened fingers over his hole, dipping in and out to get him as prepped as he’ll allow.

“Fuck, fuck me!” he nearly shouts. He feels like he’s gonna explode and not in a good way. Not yet.

All at once, Misha lowers over him, hooks a forearm under his calf and guides his cock into place. It’s clear Mish overdid it with the lube because everything just slides a little and they can’t seem to stop shaking long enough to actually fuck each other.

Both of them groan obscenely when Misha thrusts and the plump, broad head of his cock pops in past the ring of muscle.

It stings a bit, and burns as he feels Misha sink deeper, the breadth of his thick shaft stretching and finding space inside his body.

Their hips finally crush together, all hot and slick with lube and sweat, he lets out a sob. A tear streaks its way out from the corner of his eye and he looks up at Misha, mouth so close and begs, “K, take it off, please.”

He’s given the sweetest, most reverent kiss. And closes his eyes and opens his mouth to Misha’s tongue. While at the same time, a hand slips between their bellies and slowly rolls the cockring off.

“Oh god, oh fuck that’s better. Holy shit.”

Just as he hears the damn rubber circle from hell bounce off the nightstand, Misha pulls back and snaps his hips hard. A startled little sound punches past his lips and Jensen blindly reaches out and grabs at Misha’s shoulders and neck, needing something to hold on to.

Fuck, he won’t last, but he didn’t instantly blow his load—which is a downright miracle.

Misha kisses him fervently, only leaving him the briefest pauses to suck back some air. The rough relentless slamming of Misha’s hips, slapping against his ass is addictive. And he can’t stop clenching around the hard cock pistoning in and out of him.  

Jensen nips at Misha’s lips, ragged moans rolling out of him, pitching higher as each thrust rocks his body on the mattress. He knows he’s tugging at Misha’s hair and clawing at his back and biting and grunting like a sex-starved freak but he can feel the heat spiking deep in his gut. He's like an elastic band that’s pulled too tight, and the tension is just about ready to snap.

Breathing heavy over him, Misha seems to be getting just as close because he’s saying fuck, fuck, fuck, like it’s only thing he knows and the bed frame is knocking repeatedly against the wall with the strength of Misha’s frantic pace.

Suddenly there’s a hand around his throat, pressing just enough to light off the bomb inside of him that’s been a lit fuse for days.

Jensen yells. It’s _impossible_ not to.

Every muscle contracts at once and the first throbbing pulse fires out of him and lands on his face. The orgasm comes on hard and lingers, beating through his veins in the most exquisite balance between agony and bliss. Hot splashes of come splatter across his chest and stomach, and he dimly feels it start to slide down his sides and into the dips of his groin.

Judging by how raw his throat feels, he’s sure he never stopped yelling. Tremors and twitches jolt him in passes and he can’t control the after effects. Part of him wants to cry, and laugh, and maybe yell a bit more. As it is, a weird sound does bubble out of him and god help him, it’s a sad mixture of the three and his lower lip trembles from the adrenaline.

As the strung-out rollercoaster ride of pleasure slowly withers away, every other ignored sensation slides into the forefront of his mind.

Misha’s still convulsing on top of him, panting and half kissing him sloppily as he comes. The shallow jerking thrusts as Mish empties into him makes Jensen wince because _ho_ - _ly_ fuck is he sore. He’d been too turned on to notice before.

But, it was _so_ fucking worth it. Shaking only a little now, he places his palms against Misha’s cheeks and meets his hooded stare. “I think you broke me.”

Smiling lazily, Misha kisses him, slipping in for a brief taste before drawing back and easing his lower body off of Jensen, his softening dick pulling out.

A second long grimace cramps his expression because yup, he’s like … real fucking sore.

“Sorry,” Misha whispers into his neck, planting kisses against the sweat dampened skin. Their chests are flat together, legs sprawled wherever-the-fuck. There’s come drying on his face. Absently, Jensen darts out his tongue and licks whatever he can reach.

Despite the mess, and the heavy body draped over him, Jensen starts to drift off. A low snore accompanies his scattered post-sex thoughts and he’s not sure who it’s coming from, but it doesn’t really matter.

...

It’s the next morning when he sits up groggily and sees an alarm clock sitting on the long dresser that faces the bed. Well that's curious.

Sore and itchy from come having dried on him in the night, he groans and shakes Misha by the shoulder.

“Did you record us?” he accuses, his voice totally destroyed from last night.

A steady smile gradually brightens Misha’s adorable sleepy face and he mumbles against the pillow, “Hmm, damn right. I promised our wives a copy.”

And that’s how, after a long orgasm drought and Misha’s lecherous teasing, they ended up with an apartment full of hidden cameras and sneaky wives with passwords for the live-cam feed.

It makes being away from home that much… _kinkier_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
